


It's All My Fault

by therachelleb



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Feels, Multi, POV Greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 10:15:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1895274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therachelleb/pseuds/therachelleb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade hands over a new case without understanding how dangerous it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's All My Fault

**Author's Note:**

> Trying my hand at writing from Lestrade's POV and working on shorter stories. This was a spur of the moment idea and I just went with it. Comments are appreciated.

He stared down at the report papers scattered around his desk. Reading over the information for the umpteenth time he furrowed his brow and sighed. He reached for his phone knowing who he needed to call but reluctant to reach out. He gazed at the recent past text messages and rubbed his temple.

  **[Did you check the garage of the victim?]**

_[Of course not. It’s irrelevant. The neighbor hid the axe in the shed behind the warehouse he works in. SH]_

**[Thanks. Going to get it now.]**

_[It was the baker on 19th Street. SH]_

**[Wait what?]**

_[The homicide last week. Seriously, keep up. SH]_

He smiled wondering how he ended up knowing this brilliant individual and shook his head when he relished the days of simple cases without interruption. He began to type. Got a new one. Stop by the Yard or should I bring it to you? He set his phone down but it buzzed immediately. _“Well he must be bored then,”_ he thought to himself.

_[Bring it by ASAP SH]_

He sighed again and shuffled the paperwork into a folder. He got up and stopped by Sgt. Donovan’s office.

“Going to see the freak I assume?” she stated as he entered the door.

“Yea. And you know we need him for this one so try to be reasonable” he stated rolling his eyes.

He walked out of New Scotland Yard and headed to 221b Baker Street. He stepped out of the car in front of the familiar building. He could already hear the faint screeching of violin. _“Great. Bored and irritated”_ he thought as he braced himself for the insults. He rang the door and waited. He didn’t expect Sherlock to answer. He never did. He smiled warmly at Mrs. Hudson in greeting.

“Oh hello dear” she said smiling, “hope you have something to cheer him up. He’s been in one of his moods lately. I think he had a row with John as well. I haven’t seen John since this morning.”

“Yes well I’ll text John to see what’s going on. Thanks for the heads up” he replied as he walked up the stairs.

He paused at the door listening to the violin continue to spew out heinous notes and decided to get it over with. He stepped through the doorway and took sight of a tall skinny figure standing by the hearth wringing the bow against the strings of an old violin. He cleared his throat in greeting prepared for the onslaught of insults headed his way.

“Ah, Lestrade” the figure said turning, “Still sleeping on the sofa I see.”

“Uh yea” he replied, “The wife is still mad about last week.”

“Boring” replied the figure as it moved with cat-like precision toward him.

“Yea well it may be boring to you but it’s my marriage and it’s falling apart because of your brilliant idea that she’s cheating on me, Sherlock” he replied icily. He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice but it was too late.

“It’s hardly my fault that you can’t see it and still trust her. Sentiment.” Sherlock replied as he grabbed the file out of his arms. “So what is it this time? Homicide, burglary?”

“Well so far it just looks like a burglary but it’s strange because all of the thefts have occurred online and are seemingly random. We can’t find a connection between any of the victims. Not the I.P addresses, physical addresses, names, credit card numbers, all of them are different.” He explained as the consulting detective glanced over the file.

The only response he received was a slight hum of acknowledgement. He watched as Sherlock sat down at the desk that was already littered with papers and began scanning the documentation at lightening speed. He always liked watching the detective work. He noticed how quickly Sherlock’s eyes moved down the page and how his hands fluttered idly as he read. Greg noticed the minute changes in expression as Sherlock picked apart the information. A slight brow furrow here, a lip twitch there.

Suddenly Sherlock looked up exclaiming “John! This is interesting indeed. We need to go.” Greg just stared at him and watched as puzzlement crossed his face for a second before being replaced with an indifferent stare.

“John’s not here. What happened anyway? Did you two get into it?” he asked curiosity getting the best of him. “Not important right now. That’s everything I need from you inspector. I’ll be in contact.”

Sherlock stated as he rose from the desk wrapping his scarf around his slim neck. Sherlock then practically sprinted out of the flat wrapping his dark coat around himself leaving Greg standing alone. He sighed again, this time in exasperation and pulled out his phone deciding to text John with the update.

**[Sherlock just ran out by himself. I gave him a new case. You might wanna check on him.]**

He put his phone back into his jacket and headed out of Baker Street deciding on some pints before he headed home.

 

He was feeling light headed and numb by the time he decided to head home. He pulled out his phone to check the time and noticed the reply from John.

**_[Yea well I’m busy. He can text me if it’s really important. JW]_ **

He giggled despite himself when ne noticed the new signature at the end of the text. Sherlock must have added it to his phone and John hadn’t figured out how to turn it off. He didn’t have any new messages from Sherlock yet but did have three missed calls from his wife. He sighed and decided to take a cab home just to be safe. He arrived home to a cold quiet house and he slept soundly on the sofa for the fifth night that week.

He woke a few hours later to his phone ringing beside his head. He glanced at it groaning as the dialer went to voicemail. Seven missed calls, Five from Sherlock and three from John. He sat up immediately wide eyed and awake. He pushed redial for John as his brain swirled. “Sherlock never calls” he thought waiting for John to answer.

“Greg! Have you heard from him? I don’t know where he is and he isn’t answering my calls” John asked panic clear in his voice.

“No I just woke up to your call and saw that I missed calls from you and him” he replied trying to get the sleep out of his voice, “let me call him and see what’s going on. He was very irritated with you when I spoke with him earlier.”

He hung up the phone and dialed Sherlock’s number. He listened through five rings and was directed to the voicemail. He frowned knowing it was unlike Sherlock to ignore his calls. He redialed John.

“Nothing” he said when he heard the line pick up “I only got his voicemail.”

“Shit” John replied “I don’t even know where he went.”

“Listen, let’s just wait it out. We both know how wrapped up he can get in his own head. Maybe he is just in his mind palace somewhere ignoring the rest of the world” he replied trying to stifle his own rising panic.

“Yea. Ok. That’s probably what he is doing. Sorry, I am over reacting. We just got into it earlier today and I hate it when he goes out on his own when he’s mad” John said.

“No worries. Let me know when you get ahold of him. I’ll talk to you first thing tomorrow” he responded trying to hide his yawn.

“Will do” John replied and hung up.

Greg looked at his phone and registered the time was 4:30am. He sighed knowing it was pointless trying to get back to sleep. He decided to start his morning early and flipped on the coffee machine as he walked to the bathroom. He showered and dressed quietly not wanting to wake his wife. He watched her turn over in her sleep groaning as the light from the bathroom hit her face. He didn’t want to believe Sherlock about her. He just couldn’t see her cheating on him. They had been married for almost twelve years and although he did see a change in her behaviors around him, he didn’t want to think about her with another man. When he confronted her about it after several drinks she flat out denied it and began to attack him about how he never has trusted her. He let the whole issue slide but slept on the sofa because she was so mad at him for bringing the idea to light. He wanted to believe her anger was the response of being truthful and hurt but for some reason it felt like she was relieved to have him out of their room.

 

He was still thinking about their fight as he took a cab to pick up the police cruiser he left at the pub when his phone buzzed. He glanced at it registering it was Sherlock and answered immediately.

“Hey where are you? John is worried what’s going on?” he asked.

“Help. Need help” a raspy voice whispered.

“Where are you? Just tell me where you are” he said quickly panic rising in his throat.

“Battersea” the voice choked out and the line disconnected.

“Shit” he said as he ran to his cruiser.

He flipped on the lights and started driving as fast as he could toward Battersea power station. He realized he was good ten minutes away and cursed again. He pulled out his phone and called 999 telling paramedics to make their way over. He hoped they would get there before him. He then called John.

“John, yea, he just called. He’s at Battersea and said he needed help. I have no idea what happened or what’s wrong” he rushed “Yea I am on my way. See you there” and hung up.

He was thankful that the roads were clear and he sped up cursing himself for having had too many drinks to hear his phone the first few times Sherlock rang him. He arrived at the power station and saw no paramedics in sight. He jumped out of the cruiser pulling out his gun and running into the building. He had no idea where to start looking and decided to call Sherlock again. He heard a distant ringing and started to run towards it. He wound his way through corridors chasing the sound of Sherlock’s phone. His heart was racing and panic rising in his chest. He spun around a corner and spotted him. Sherlock was collapsed on the floor his coat spiraling out around him hiding most of his body from view. He raced towards him and dropped to his knees.

“Sherlock!” he shouted “Sherlock!”

There was no movement from the body below him. He moved the coat aside so he could see what happened and noticed the pool of blood surrounding Sherlock’s body.

“Fuck” he cursed out loud and rolled Sherlock onto his back.

Sherlock didn’t respond and he started to panic openly. He leaned closer and noticed Sherlock wasn’t breathing. His police training took over and he started CPR as he called 999 again on speaker phone. He felt popping beneath his fists as he pushed into the lithe figure below him, his brain registering it must be ribs breaking. He heard voices down the hallway and he called out. He saw John round the corner, his gun held out in front of him. Greg watched the blood drain from his face as he assessed the situation.

“The medics are right behind me” he said breathlessly grabbing Sherlock’s wrist to take his pulse.

Greg continued his compressions as the paramedics arrived. One of them took over for him and he promptly stepped away. He watched as they cut open Sherlock’s shirt exposing a starving frame. He was taken aback by how childlike Sherlock looked. He could see his ribs and thought to himself how little he knew about the man before him. He watched as John stepped back letting the paramedics take over. John locked eyes with him fear plain on his face. John shook his head and looked back down at Sherlock. Greg watched as they hooked up the defibrillator pads to Sherlock’s chest. The first shock made Sherlock’s body convulse upwards slightly and they pulled his body onto a stretcher. A second shock was delivered as they paramedics ran with him down the hall to the ambulance. John raced after and Greg had to force his feet to move. He ran after them and caught John right before the ambulance drove off sirens blazing.

“Get in!” he called towards John as he started the cruiser.

They sped after the ambulance but at a much slower pace. He couldn’t turn on the sirens for this.

"My god, he didn’t have a pulse” John said dropping his head into his hands.

“It’s going to be ok, John” he said with more confidence than he felt.

They remained silent for the rest of the car ride. Within minutes they arrived at St. Bart’s hospital and John raced into the emergency room. He came back into the waiting area with his head hanging low.

“Shit. It’s can’t be” Greg thought to himself.

“What’s going on?” he asked as John approached.

“He’s in surgery. They won’t tell me anything because I’m not family” John said as he pulled out his phone, ‘I’m calling Mycroft.”

John walked away as he dialed and Greg realized the gravity of the situation. His stomach dropped and he sat into a chair to avoid collapsing on the floor. He dropped his head into his hands and let out a deep breath. He could feel his hands shaking as he ran them through his graying hair. He forced himself to calm down and put on his stoic face and posture. His mind was still whirling, cursing himself for not answering his phone, for getting too drunk, and for not following Sherlock when he left that evening. His mind wandered to when he first met the most irritating man he had ever known.

 

He was just a detective then, working for the drugs team at the Yard. They had just been given intel about a large heroin den in the south of London. He was riding along on the bust and after all the addicts were rounded up and taken to the hospital he was left with the task of trying to find any sort of evidence that may lead them to the dealers. He walked around the deserted warehouse paying close attention to the scattered needles around his feet. He kicked a pile of cardboard on accident and heard a gruff response. He stepped back shocked and lifted a piece of cardboard out of the way. He found himself gazing into glassy blue green eyes. He moved back as the skinny figure sat upright. Greg noticed the figure was wearing a tattered suit and his brown curly hair was matted.

He leaned down and started with “Hey, I’m detective Greg Lestrade-“

“I know full well who you are Scotland Yard” the figure replied icily ‘Where are you planning to take me? Custody, the hospital, rehab? No you don’t decide that do you. It’s plain to see you are just starting out in the Yard. You hate this division and are just trying to work your way up. You obviously haven’t slept in a few days, problems with your wife it seems. You clearly don’t want to deal with me right now and if that’s the case I will be leaving now” he said standing up.

Greg was surprised at how much this man knew about his life. He felt his jaw drop open.

“Wait. I think you should come with me. I can take you to the hospital” Greg said as the figure approached the window, “What’s your name at the very least.”

“The name’s Sherlock Holmes and I am not going to the hospital” the man said as he climbed out the window.

“Wait!” Greg called as he ran toward the window ‘How the hell did you know all that?”

“Just observing” the drug addict named Sherlock Holmes called back as he walked down the street, “You should really try for the crimes unit. It would fit your personality much better.”

Greg was left standing in the window watching the tall figure move catlike within the shadows and wondering who he had just met and why he was smiling.

 

Greg was brought back to reality when John sat down beside him in the waiting room.

"Mycroft is on his way” he said plainly.

“Good” was the only reply he could muster.

He was still reeling from the memories of his first encounter with Sherlock Holmes and decided he needed to move. He sighed and looked over at John. He saw a broken man staring at the blue linoleum squares beneath his feet. John’s face was etched with lines of panic and worry. His shoulders were slumped and he looked utterly defeated.

"Hey, it’s going to be ok” Greg said realizing how lame the statement sounded.

“Yea. I mean he’s made it through worse, right?” John said obviously not buying a single word.

Greg could tell from his tone that John was done with conversation so he got up and found the coffee machine. He made two cups, making sure he evened out his breathing while the machine hummed and then walked back to waiting room. He saw John talking with a taller more mature looking version of Sherlock and held back for a few seconds until the man walked back into the Emergency ward.

“What did he say?” Greg asked as he approached holding out the coffee.

John just stared out in front of him not making eye contact.

“He didn’t make it” John replied, “He’s gone.”

Greg watched in shock as John slumped to the floor his shoulders shaking as he cried openly into his hands. He stood dumbfounded at the news and barely registered as the coffee cups slipped from his fingers and splashed onto the linoleum. He felt the blood run from his face and he caught the wall before he could fall. His mind was racing. Sherlock was dead and it was his fault. He gave him the case and watched him run out the door without any backup. He got drunk and slept through five missed calls from Sherlock. His head swam with the implications that he sent Sherlock out on his own chasing after criminals. He felt hot tears fall down his cheeks and he reached up quickly to wipe them away. He had lost the best and most brilliant man he had ever known and the realization it was his fault bared down on him with force. He watched as John straightened his shoulders and picked himself up into a chair. He stared at John with his mouth agape and tried to think of something to say. Nothing came to mind so he just sat down next to him and waited. Greg wasn’t sure how long him and John sat there but the next thing he knew Mycroft was standing next to him and telling them to both go home. Mycroft said he had everything handled and he would be in contact within the day. Greg couldn’t understand how Sherlock’s own brother was so composed but he rose and forced himself to head to the Yard to finish the paperwork. He walked into his office letting the familiar process of paperwork take hold. He wrote out the incident numb with the realization that this was the last time he would be mentioning Sherlock Holmes in a report. He wrapped up his work and left the office. He wandered the streets of London in a daze, tears streaming down his face, wondering how different his life would be without Sherlock Holmes, the first and only consulting detective in the world.


End file.
